


come again

by Etheostoma



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Hades comes to visit, Introspection, New Beginnings, Post-Canon, With a bit of kissing for Reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etheostoma/pseuds/Etheostoma
Summary: Spring had come once more, but with it also came the doubts and regrets that hadn't yet had time to set in at winter's end.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Kudos: 51





	come again

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh boy, so this is going to be an ongoing love/obsession of mine for a while, apparently. Started listening to the soundtrack on a whim and found a recording online, and hot damn am I in love with this show and story and cast.
> 
> Thus, the first of likely many explorations of these characters and their world....

No one could deny that spring, true and earnest, had come to stay, the return of its Lady bringing the blooms and breadth of fresh air the world so very desperately needed. It settled over the land with the comfort of a well-worn blanket, sending tendrils of sunshine and warmth branching out across the countryside. Those first, few tentative buds had come and gone as the land waited in trepidation, hesitant to even hope that this season would be different from any other in living memory.

And yet, they left not the cold winter that seemed to come all-too-early, but rather an ocean of green in their wake—seas of vivid grass, islands of emerald, gem-like leaves erupting from the warm earthy tones of branches and trunks, and the bright, naive sprigs of summer’s crop beginning to emerge and crane curiously toward the light.

It was a spring unlike any the world had seen in many a year—it bore the promise of something _more,_ a hint of attention and care and _love_ that it hadn’t in so very long.

In the shade of the setting sun, Persephone hummed low in her throat and closed her eyes, sinking her arm deep into the ground and sending out tendrils of power into the earth. The loamy soil was cool against her skin, holding hand and forearm in a light embrace as she fostered growth and resilience in the burgeoning growth she felt sprawling out around her in an endless pattern. Her power had countless layers, many so subtle as to be triggered by her more presence aboveground, but certainly none above would argue this more direct approach—especially after her recent descent into what could only be deemed ambivalent negligence.

A stabbing regret rebounded through her at the thought, and she could not prevent the shadow that flitted across her face, casting an uncannily serious shadow across her fair features.

So much wasted time—so many wasted lives, and life _times._

Lips pursed, she withdrew her arm from the earth, keeping her eyes closed as she felt her efforts take root. A job well done, she mused, following the lengthening of roots and shoots, the brightening of leaves and the swelling of fruit. It was a simple gesture, by her standards, but would translate exponentially to the mortals who depended on the spring’s growth—nothing close to what she owed them, but a fair start if nothing else.

Dark lashed kissed her cheeks as she blinked and bowed her head, resting one fisted hand on her thigh and pressing the palm of its partner back against the ground. If she focused hard enough, she could feel the electric thrum of the underworld deep below, a steady, constant hum pulsing just beyond reach.

Damn, but did she miss her man.

It wasn’t supposed to have been like this, this tightly-wound tension and walking on eggshells and hiding from the truth for so long that it became all but completely obscured. She could blame him as much as she liked, but she was as much—if not more so—at fault as he, in the end.

Now she sat one month into her six, fully and wholeheartedly committed to seeing out her time here to help rectify past mistakes—yet at the same time wishing with every fiber of her immortal being that she were down below with her husband.

_Hades._

Her lip quivered as she considered the wrongs they had paid each other, how hopelessly derailed their relationship had become. Back on track now, perhaps, or at least chugging along in that direction, but even so…

Another month or two in his domain would have not have been a trial, would have been a boon and given them more time to coax the little flicker of hope sparked by the boy’s trial into a stronger flame.

“Bah.”

She rose to her feet in a single, fluid movement, her moss-green dress—chosen that morning for its simple design and functionality—whispering across the ground as she paced across the yard of her mother’s home to the darkening road beyond.

“Is that you, daughter mine?”

Persephone bit back the ironic retort that boiled immediately to her lips at Demeter’s inquiry, instead rolling her eyes into the twilit woods and flipping her curls behind her back. “’Yeah, mama, I’m goin’ out for a while.”

As though she weren’t a goddess fully grown and well into the summer of her own maturity, fully competent and capable of going off on her own for a few hours.

“Going where?”

She could feel Demeter’s presence at her back, a still figure standing in the light spilling from the cottage they shared when Persephone was topside. Without turning, she could see those keen eyes, feel the pressure of their shrewd gaze on her back as she envisioned her mother’s crossed arms.

Wouldn’t be too much to ask for a little privacy, now would it?

Common sense kept her from biting off that very reply—experience had taught her little was gained through direct engagement—and instead she muttered an ambivalent response and set off into the woods without awaiting a reply.

“Millennia old,” she huffed, pacing deeper into the forest, “and still she expects me to be at her beck and call.” She screwed her face up in a caricature of disgust and ambled along, no destination in mind, trailing her fingers idly along the bark of this tree and tracing the contours of that vine as she moved. Growth sprang up in her wake, bark thickening and vines lengthening, grass sprouting from the press of every footstep into the earth. She was life, rebirth, harvest—but also death, she thought with a sharp pang, her thoughts turning downward again and causing the leaf she held pinched between thumb and forefinger to wither.

Normally she was not so frivolous with her powers, kept them more tightly under wraps, but tonight she could not contain it, was wound too tightly to keep herself more fully in check. Her mind was abuzz, spinning and churning with far too many thoughts and emotions than she could give voice to. She let life flow back through her—it would not do to bestow any more despair on the mortals, not now—and paced onward. The happy burble of the river caught her attention, and she cut through the thick vegetation framing it to alight upon the hill above its banks. Free from tree or shrub, the open sky revealed a sky so dark a blue it was nearly black, the inky vacuum offset by the brilliant stars gleaming like incendiary pinpricks within its void.

Stepping lightly, she picked a path to a wide rock fashioned, for the enterprising individual, like a large bench, spreading her skirts and settling into place along the riverbank. Her thoughts roiled in time with the water, running along a live current and whirling unchecked with ripples and eddies. “It ain’t ever easy, is it?” she asked the sky rhetorically, splaying her hands out behind her on the rock and leaning back. She tipped her head up, baring her neck to the stars, catching silver in her earthen eyes and the moonlight on her teeth as she bared them in a mockery of a smile.

“No, it isn’t.”

She should have been more shocked by his sudden presence, absent one moment and there the next, his arrival silent but for the deep baritone of his voice—but instead it felt right, natural, the logical progression of events. His aura gave him away, a heavy presence that radiated power even when he instinctively dimmed it for trips to the world above, diluted it to contain the thrum of dominance and authority that followed him far beyond the reaches of his own kingdom. She let the rumble of his voice sweep across her, felt goosebumps raise on her flesh summoned by that growl of his and kept her face tilted to the sky.

“Hello, husband.”

“Wife.” His head dipped low in a nod, and she could feel his fingers twitch as if to take the wrist closest to him in his grasp

Lightning-quick, she twisted, seizing his hand—bare, she noted, and his attire a simple peasant’s shirt rolled up to the elbows and work trousers—and twining her fingers through his.

“Lover.” Her voice was low, her thumb stroking along the knuckles of the large hand she had captured. She had so many things she wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but that was all her mind could summon in the quick of the moment.

Silent once more, she bowed her head and regarded his pale fingers, all but glowing in the light of the moon. She had always loved his hands, wide enough to nearly span her waist when they held her, strong enough to break empires in two—but gentle, always gentle with her when she needed it, whether she knew it or not. They were a working man’s hands, calloused and solid, worn by age and work and wisdom in a way unlike those of any other man, mortal or god.

Eyes still cast down—gods help her but she didn’t know what she might find in those eyes of him, and damned if she weren’t just terrified to find out—she raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to the soft web of skin between thumb and forefinger, keen ears picking out his soft gasp at the first electric press of her lips against his skin.

He froze, going eerily still but for the hand she held, and that she could feel trembling beneath her touch, beneath her lips. “You are sad,” he finally murmured lowly, breaking the tentative silence between them. His free hand rose to smooth the hair back from her face, thumb tracing the elegant line of her cheekbone as he did. “I could feel it even from down there, could feel ya even with all this distance between us.”

What he didn’t say, but they both felt acutely, was that it was the first time in countless years their bond had been strong enough— _whole_ enough—for such a connection to function.

She hummed noncommittally, tilting her face into his caress like a cat demanding to be petted.

He acquiesced—of _course_ he did, for he could truly deny her nothing—retrieving his other hand from her grasp and bringing those large, worn palms up to cradle her cheeks, tipping his head down to press their foreheads together. “What causes you grief?” His dark eyes were heavy, bearing the weight of countless sorrows in their depths.

“I—“ her voice caught, breath hitching, and she blinked, furious at the tears that betrayed her by suddenly welling in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, pressing forward against his temple, she tried again. “I miss ya. I miss _us,_ how we used to be, how easy it all was, how I could say I love ya and have you know I meant it, how you could say it and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that’s all there was to it—“

She paused for a breath she didn’t necessarily need. “I hate that we let things get so frayed, so hollow. I hate it for those kids, the singer and his little muse, and I hate being _here_ even when I love it—every moment I’m up here doing my duty is another minute I could be down there with _you_ , tryin’ to make things right. And now I _want_ to try to make things right, and I’m stuck up here with mama for another five damn months."

Her throat caught on another unnecessary breath and, to her utmost mortification, a single, solitary tear broke free and trailed down along her cheek. “And I just fucking drank my way through the years, ignoring duty to the mortals _and_ to you, husband.”

Those broad shoulders of his—capable of moving mountains and razing kingdoms—tensed, shook, and then slumped forward to catch her in a blanketing embrace, his arms curving around her back to cradle her against his chest in the tenderest of embraces. Silently, he tucked her chin into the crook of his neck, dropping his head to brush a featherlight kiss across the top of her mass of curls. “Oh lover,” he rumbled, voice laden with the hurts of the ages. “It takes two.” He sighed heavily into her hair. “It takes two.”

She pressed her face in more tightly against his neck until it was impossible for him to not feel the trickle of wetness trailing from her skin down on to his, the minuscule drops hissing and turning to steam as they dripped onto his neck. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, arms rising to curl around his lower back, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in his dark shirt. “So sorry.”

The infinitesimal tightening of his arms around her told her he heard, and agreed, and that he, too, was sorrier than could be put into words.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked, finally putting voice to that singular question that had been haunting her since her passage from winter to spring. Hanging loose in his arms, she could pretend times were simpler, that years were shed and wrinkles smoothed, their love in the prime of its youth rather than the knotted, worn, and gnarled thing that now sat heavily between them.

Her voice shook slightly as she forced the words out, her confession directed to that memory of them as they were, bolstered by the mustard seed of hope growing in her breast that perhaps this thing _could_ still work between them. “I gave up the drink—cut it out completely. Haven’t touched a drop since before I left ya.”

He gave a hum of surprise, and then she could feel his lips turn upward into the barest semblance of a smile—just the slightest of twists, imperceptible to anyone but her, anyone who didn’t know him as well as she, who wasn’t privy to the thoughts and emotions so commonly masked by that gruff exterior. “I am…modifying the city,” he grated out in response, sweeping those long fingers through the strands of her, smoothing from scalp to wavy ends and catching the swirls and curls that tumbled about along her back. “Less…everything. And—“ now his own voice caught “—I believe it is time to perhaps begin to start breaking down the wall.”

Unbidden, her hand slid to trace the bricks of his tattoo, bared as they were by his rolled shirtsleeve. “You’d do that?” she asked tremulously, hating herself again for how gut-wrenchingly _weak_ she sounded to herself in that moment, yet at the same time not caring, not in the slightest, because he was _trying, she_ was trying, they were together and it was _spring_ and he wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“I told you, lover, I do it all for you.” He all but growled it into her hair, but his hands remained ridiculously, infuriatingly gentle at her back. Straightening slightly, he met her gaze with those coal-black eyes, and she drew in a sharp breath at everything she saw welling in those dark depths. His thumb rose to brush along her lower lip, his calloused skin a delightful drag against the softness of her own. “We’ve been so many things over the millennia that I think we’ve forgotten what it means to be ourselves.” His eyes were pitch. “I’d like to try that for a time, how about it?”

Words failed Persephone and she nodded, hoping her expression conveyed everything her traitorous tongue could not. It seemed her point was made, for tension she had not even noticed building in his shoulders suddenly released, and he gave a hoarse laugh, dipping down to kiss her lightly on the lips. It was a liberty neither had taken in some time, and her breath caught in a sharp gasp.

He stiffened, prepared to draw away—she could feel it in the tightening of his arms, the catch of air in his lungs as he faltered and feared he had overstepped. Desperate to prove otherwise, she pressed more tightly against him, tipped her face up and catching him in a kiss of her own.

It was chaste in comparison to an insurmountable number of its predecessors, a simple brush of lips chapped by the cold air of the underworld and lips softened the warm air of spring, but for the two of them, it was everything. Electricity crackled between them, and with a low groan Hades broke completely and scooped her into his lap, bringing one hand up to cradle the length of her jaw and change the angle of their meeting into something not nearly so tame.

He devoured her, seeking more than he had in veritable ages, re-tracing long-familiar territory with a hesitant surety that endeared him all the more to her. His touch was galvanizing, sending long-dormant nerves sizzling as he mapped out every contour of her mouth, free hand burying itself deep in her hair.

Not one to be outdone, Persephone responded in turn, mirroring the grasp that held her in place, scraping her fingers delicately across the beard that lined his jaw, relishing the rasp of stubble against her neck as he shifted his attention down, pressing molten kisses to her skin. She sighed, tipping her head back to allow him access, palm sliding up along his cheek and up to tease the fine strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

After what seemed an age and yet like no time at all they parted, and as he drew back and took in the sight of her—all flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and gleaming eyes—he felt his heart leave him anew, as though they were once again young and reckless and falling in love for the first time.

“I know,” she said, giving him a piercing, earnest look that was offset only slightly by the grin tripping along her lips. “I feel it too, husband.” The endearment, thrown about so carelessly in times past, bore a weight it had not carried in a long time, and he felt himself smile slightly in return.

“I cannot stay much longer,” he said regretfully, taking her left hand in both of his and lifting it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, then flipped her hand and brushed his lips across the base of her palm, then slid upward to caress the gleaming metal band around her third finger. “But…” he leaned back, steely gaze weighted with something heavier, a promise of something more, “I _will_ be waiting.”

She caught his own hand between both of hers, mirroring his movements in an achingly slow dance. She bent his fingers into a fist, mouthing each knuckle, and allowed her lips to rest on his own wedding band. “As will I, lover,” she murmured, the movement tickling his skin. “And I will come, and come willingly, and we will continue this…conversation.”

“Is _that_ what this is?” he chuckled, and she remained enough enmeshed in the memories of the her youthful self to blush.

“Some might say so,” she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his teasingly.

“Fates but I do love you, my wife,” he declared, taking the opportunity to claim one last, quick kiss from her willing lips. Rising he extended an arm to her, cocking his head to the side. “Walk me to the tracks?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. It was not quite an apology, not quite a claim, but some meeting of the two, offering an apology and a fresh start in a single gesture.

She laughed gaily, a handful of tulips sprouting where her toes tickled the grass, and rose, taking the proffered arm. “Of course, lover.” His intent was not lost on her, the symbolism of spring escorting winter to the gates of his domain a heady one, and she gripped his forearm perhaps a bit more tightly than was proper, standing on her toes to briefly mouth the underside of his jaw in a calculated move that made him shudder around her. Settling back to put a more appropriate distance between them, she gave him a lazy smirk and dipped her head. "Lead on."

They set off together down that singular path through woods, death and rebirth clinging to their mantles, stars and buds glittering gemlike in their wake. As they passed beyond the line of mortal sight, something shifted in the world, settled more solidly into place, and the universe stood satisfied with, if not a perfect balance, then at least the promise of compromise hanging heavily on the horizon. 


End file.
